


Forgive and Forget

by bunnyfication



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:28:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyfication/pseuds/bunnyfication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy grows impatient with waiting for Germany to get over the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive and Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as part of an exchange over on [](http://gertalia.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://gertalia.livejournal.com/)**gertalia**. It's locked there, so it was about time to repost it. :9
> 
> BIG thanks to [](http://clytemnaestra.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://clytemnaestra.livejournal.com/)**clytemnaestra** for betaing this...twice. :'D ♥ If it's any good, half the reason is right there.

It was an early morning, just after dawn, and Italy hadn't slept much. He was in that pleasantly dreamy state where everything looked new and magical. A single nightingale was singing and Italy stopped to listen, a smile stretching his face.

The summery morning air was pleasantly cool on his almost naked flesh, the grass dewy against his bare feet. Life was good. Italy would sing with the joy of it, but then Switzerland might have woken up and tried to shoot him again, so he hummed softly under his breath instead as he walked onwards.

He hadn't been able to sleep earlier, due to the heat. When he'd finally decided to go for a walk, Italy had just picked up the first piece of clothing he'd found. It was Germany's shirt, but Italy was sure he wouldn't mind sharing. Especially considering Germany's shirt on Italy covered much more than his own would have.

Who needed trousers anyway, in the middle of the night with hardly anyone around?

Even the streets of the town where Germany lived were deserted this early in the morning, wisps of fog curling about the statues on his plazas. One particularly stern-looking one had a sleeping pigeon perched on his head, ruining the effect somewhat, and Italy couldn't help snickering.

It was like Germany, all scary until one got close to him and then...well, he'd still yell, but he wasn’t that bad when one got to know him. Not usually.

No, Germany was not all that scary, unless you angered him. Unless...Italy shook his head to banish _that_ particular memory. It had no place in this peaceful time.

Eventually Italy arrived at Germany's house and padded into his bedroom. Germany was definitely not scary when he was sleeping, all curled around the empty spot on his bed. In fact, like this Germany looked almost vulnerable, _almost_ the young country he should have been.

It was so easy to forget that he was really quite new for a country. Younger than America, even. Italy had asked Prussia once whether he'd known Germany as a child, what he'd been like back then. The other nation had given him a long look, and shrugged. "Not that different. He's always been so serious and tried so hard, the poor bastard. I tried to teach him to be more awesome, you know, like I am, but...I don't know if that was a good idea." Prussia had seemed oddly uncomfortable, almost guilty.

Perhaps Italy even understood why, if he thought about it. Prussia seemed to think of war as a game, a grand adventure. Maybe it had been that, once. Germany, though, had been born into a different era. And being who he was, he'd applied all that single-minded dedication to the cause of destruction...Italy shivered. He didn't like to think of the dark side of people he loved.

The world was a beautiful place, with good people capable of great things. Too bad the opposite was true as well, no matter how Italy tried to forget it.

Germany's brow furrowed, as if he'd just remembered that same thing in his sleep. Italy lay down next to him and brushed at the blond fringe that had fallen over his forehead until Germany's face smoothed once again.

He often had nightmares. Sometimes Italy had to throw a pillow at him to wake him up, lest a disoriented Germany accidentally punched him. This one must have been a lesser one, maybe about being chased by a giant meatball again.

Italy had to smother a giggle at that particular memory, which he was sure Germany would have never shared if he hadn't been utterly groggy at the time. But it had been nice, having Germany hug him and promise to keep Italy safe from wandering foodstuffs.

Italy sighed happily, starting to feel rather sleepy himself. It had been nice of Germany to get a bigger bed too ... when had that happened, actually?

Germany's eyelids fluttered before opening fully, and he turned his head to look at Italy in groggy confusion.

"Bzuh?" Germany said inquisitively.

"Good morning Germany!" Italy chirped; as he leaned down to kiss his cheek.

Germany blinked sleepily, and then coloured a brilliant pink. Happy, Italy laughed at him.

Lately Germany had been strangely distant. He hadn't responded when Italy had questioned him about it, remaining silent and brooding. Italy pouted. He hated being ignored, especially by pretty ladies and his best friend.

Germany frowned at him sleepily, and Italy poked playfully at the lines that had formed on his forehead.

"That's not polite! No frowning this early in the morning, I forbid it."

Of course that only made Germany's frown deepen, so Italy, in the giddy mood caused by too little sleep, decided to _make_ him smile a little.

Germany's eyes widened comically as Italy's hands skittered under his shirt. Before he had time to react, those fingers started tickling him, and then Italy quickly jumped on him.

Trapped by weight of the Italian and still groggy from sleep, Germany could only wriggle against the relentless attack. There was no way to hold back the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

Italy stopped and sat back, staring in awe.

"Wow, I didn't know Germany could sound like that!" he said.

Germany looked away, mortified and breathing hard. Italy leaned down to brush a hand over his forehead gently.

"Don't start frowning again; you look much better when you're not."

Germany glanced at him and then looked away, his face still red as a beet. "Then stop doing these idiotic things...and get off me!"

Italy considered. "Nope," he said, beaming at the disgruntled German.

Germany sighed and closed his eyes, as if trying to shut Italy out. That was just what Italy didn't want!

"Ital...Feliciano, p-please get off me, now," Germany said, in a strangely small voice. His face went a shade redder, if that was even possible.

"Eh?" Italy realized there was something...poking at him. Oh.

"Are you...sure?" he asked, softly. Then Germany _pushed_ him off and sat up, looking like he was just barely resisting the urge to crawl away from Italy.

Italy bit at his lower lip, to keep it from wobbling. "Don't you like me? I thought..."

Once again, Germany's eyes were glued to anything but Italy.

"That was...a long time ago. I mean, I do _like_ you, don't give me that look, but trying to take it further, that was a mistake."

Both men were silent for a long while, Germany still avoiding Italy's searching gaze.

"Really?" Italy asked at last, in a very small voice.

Germany's hesitation before nodding was all Italy needed to know he was lying.

"I'm sorry. That Valentine's day, I was just...I wasn't expecting you to actually propose, and the time wasn't right and-" Italy babbled, but Germany raised a hand to stop him, shaking his head.

"Don't. It's not anything _you_ did, you know that."

Was this all about Germany's guilt again? Italy smiled, even if he felt like it came out a bit tremulous.

"Germany, everyone's made mistakes. And it's not like any of those things during the...during the last war will happen again!"

"No, not anytime soon" Germany said bleakly, and he was still not meeting Italy's gaze.

Italy found himself getting uncharacteristically angry, his hands clenching into fists.

"Stop being so...so," he gestured emphatically at Germany's defeated posture. " _You_ said you'd work hard to make up for everything! But also to show everyone that they could trust you. And we _do_ now. So stop acting like I should be afraid of you, because I'm not. I was _never_ afraid of you."

Germany looked straight at him now. His face was suddenly serious and sharp, almost threatening, and Italy had to force himself not to flinch.

"Not...not even when I was your prisoner!"

Germany smiled then, ruefully and mirthlessly. "Liar," he said quietly, and Italy had to look away.

"Yeah," he sighed, "but..."

He had been afraid, because Germany hadn't been himself. He'd been closed off and merciless, because Italy had betrayed him just when things were going so badly. But still, Italy remembered his eyes. When he'd begged for mercy Germany couldn't give, there had been such despair in them.

He remembered the time when Germany had come to his cell and just sat down onto the floor, his back to the bars. He'd looked tired, just as pained and exhausted as Italy had been. Italy felt almost like they were both prisoners there, sharing the same faith.

Italy had wanted to reach out, but he hadn't quite dared, the memory of pain stalling his hand. Eventually Germany had stood up and given him an unreadable look, before he walked away.

And then the war had been over.

"How can you not fear me now, after all I did to you?" Germany asked. Italy looked at him, trying to find an answer he would believe.

How could he? Italy closed his eyes and dug deeper into the memory he's sought to bury. He thought of the time during the last great war he was involved in. Just before the end of it, and after.

"I never got to say goodbye to my first love, you know. He left to fight, and he promised to come back...but he didn't," Italy said. He saw that Germany was wondering what that had to do with their current conversation, but he didn't ask, so Italy took a deep breath and continued.

"So when I heard you'd lost, I wanted to...I wanted to see how bad it was. In case..." _you were dead too_ , but Italy couldn't say the words, and shrugged instead. "I was just really worried."

"But-"

Italy didn't let him finish. "I know you're not like me. If your boss told you to do something you'd actually do it, even if he told you to...I don't know, jump off a cliff." Italy smiled. "I thought: That's Germany, and no one's perfect. I definitely am not. I'm weak and abandon even people I love when things get tough," he said, his words becoming softer.

"At least that doesn't hurt anyone," Germany whispered, and Italy shook his head ruefully.

"Really? Just ask Romano...or even you! In any case, I came to see you after the war."

"I don't remember that."

"Ah, I'm not surprised."

First he'd had to sneak away from Romano, who didn't want to let him out of his sight so soon after they'd been reunified. Italy had seen himself in a mirror, and could understand why his brother didn't want to let him go. He'd almost felt sorry for the pale, thin stranger in the glass as well.

Finally Romano had released him, when Italy said he just needed to take a walk by himself. He told his brother that he couldn't do things like that while he'd been imprisoned.

It was almost the truth, because he didn't really _make_ the decision to go to Germany. He just let his feet take him through the war-ravaged lands. He thought of the places he'd seen, both in his own lands and Germany's, and how they'd been before.

He didn't cry. Perhaps later.

The Allies gave him strange looks. Italy didn't bother to find out whether they were looks of pity or something else. At least there was no suspicion; there was an upside to looking as bad as he did.

They were surprised he wanted to see Germany, but America promised to take him.

He took Italy's arm, leading him through the broken, quiet city and helping him over the piles of rubble. Among the Allies, America had seemed to shine with health. He was hardly bruised, and had been spared the starved, greyish look of the rest of the damaged countries.

And they'd won this war. What sort of shape would Germany be in?

"Here we are!" America said cheerfully, gesturing at two guards stationed at a hospital door. They seemed to hardly pay the former enemies any mind. America looked at him, seeming to hesitate.

"Look, Italy ... I don't know why you're here, but if it's for revenge ...don't kill him. We haven't decided on his punishment yet. Besides, he'll hardly feel it at this point, I think."

"T-that's not what I..." Italy said in a voice that sounded hoarse and weak even to himself, and America smiled.

"That's good! Personally I'm thinking...well, certainly the guy's going to have to pay for things! But we can't afford to just let nations die in this day and age. That would just cause more trouble, the way I see it."

Italy nodded, but didn't say anything. America was looking into the distance, seeming not to see the bombed city, but some vision of a bright future. He was the strongest of them now, Italy thought. He'd joined the battle at the last moment, and now ... America turned to look at him, and his smile was patronizing.

"I'm sorry, go on in. I'll just stay out here, if it's all the same to you."

Italy nodded again. At least America meant well. Maybe that'd be enough.

The room he stepped into was gloomy and spartan, but at least it was clean and well equipped. Germany would have approved.

Right now he wasn't awake to state an opinion.

The blond nation was lying in bed. He looked pale, except for two unhealthy spots on colour on his cheeks. Italy drifted nearer uncertainly, trying to find someplace unhurt to touch. He couldn't.

Finally, he reached out a hand to stroke Germany's forehead, just under the bandages wrapped there. To his surprise, Germany's eyes opened slowly, though they seemed hazy and unfocused.

His lips moved, but no sound came out at first.

"...who?"

"It's...it's Italy."

Germany blinked at him, and then...he smiled. A strange expression, not like him at all. It was almost childish, shy but unreserved.

"I'm sorry I took so long," Germany said. His face scrunched up in pain. "Italy, am I dying?" he asked, still in that unfamiliar tone. Almost reminded Italy of someone else he had known, a long time ago...

Italy took hold of Germany's hand, wrapping his fingers around it carefully but firmly.

"No, you're not," he said, infusing his voice with all the certainty he could gather.

Italy couldn't stay with him for long that time, and Romano didn't let him wander so far again. The next time they met, Germany was mostly back to his usual stern self. Still, Italy found he could smile at him, mostly unafraid.

It had helped too that Germany was being very polite to him. Well, it helped at first, but eventually Italy found himself annoying Germany almost on purpose, because he missed his blustering. That was how things should be. Germany should yell at him, and Italy would apologise and keep doing it anyway. And eventually Germany got so used to it that he forgot to be bothered anymore, usually.

Italy had thought that their relationship would eventually develop further than that, but if Germany was still hung up on his guilt...

Germany coughed, and Italy realized he'd been staring at him. The Germany sitting before him in bed looked healthier and stronger than the frail, damaged man in the Allied hospital. But that uncertainty remained in his eyes.

"I still don't understand why you're not afraid of me ... or angry at me, after all that happened," Germany said.

Italy shrugged.

"Maybe I can't explain. But if you've seen someone at weakest and...and their worst, and still...still love them, doesn't that mean something?"

Germany flushed again and looked away, but he didn't pull back when Italy inched closer, curling his arms around him.

Italy kneeled over Germany, delighting in the feeling of his warm skin. He was glad he hadn't bothered with pants that night when he'd left, definitely. Italy shivered and let out a soft moan against Germany's lips, then leaned back just enough to give him a mischievous look.

Germany resisted stubbornly. But when Italy leaned closer to kiss him lightly, it wasn't long before he growled and captured those lips in a harder kiss.

Italy made a delighted sound, and tried to get their bodies into closer contact.

By the time the kiss, or possibly yet another kiss entirely, ended, they were both out of breath. Italy was feeling a bit lightheaded, both from the intense kiss and the concentration of blood elsewhere.

"Heh, you did that first, remember? I asked for a hug and got kisses instead."

Germany seemed confused for a moment. "I...was told it's a common custom where you came from. Was that wrong?"

"Naaw, doesn't really matter. It's good we're sitting down though, you're way too tall otherwise-"

Italy was pleasantly interrupted when Germany pushed him down into the mattress. Then he was divested of his shirt, with German efficiency. Again, Italy had no complaints, especially when Germany attacked the newly-revealed areas with his hands and mouth.

"A-ahn! Please, please!"

"Please what?" Germany's voice rumbled up from where his mouth lingered, teasingly near Italy's arousal. Italy raised his head with difficulty, and gave him his best pouting face.

"Un, wait..." Italy got his elbows under his body so that he could see, and smiled at Germany. "Ever done this before?" he asked. He smiled gently when his question was answered with only a pink blush to Germany's cheeks.

"That's all right - I'll tell you what to do, ok?"

"I've...I've seen it," Germany said gruffly.

Italy smiled knowingly. "That's not the same thing at all! Those people would have probably practiced a lot ... but don't worry, I'm sure you'll learn fast," he said, just a little teasingly.

Germany's eyes narrowed, and suddenly he wasn't hesitant at all. Italy stared, his gaze clouded with lust, as his length disappeared into Ludwig's mouth. He couldn't quite take all off it before he gagged and pulled back. Italy had to bite his lip not to complain at the loss.

Instead, he smiled.

"You can use your hand too, or just lick at it. Like a lollipop..." his speech ended in a gasp, assaulted by that mental image.

Germany raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Instead he followed Italy's instructions. And once Germany understood the gist of anything, he tended to be very thorough.

Italy soon had to fight the urge to just fall back, but he wanted to see just a bit more of that pink tongue licking him, as if he were indeed sweet as a lollipop. Ludwig's mouth had gone red and swollen already, and Italy wanted to kiss him like that.

Except before he was finished thinking it, Ludwig took in the head of his cock and sucked hard, and Feliciano's already wobbling elbows collapsed from under him, and he threw his head back. Couldn't stop his hips from moving up either, but Germany held them down, the steady pressure of his large hands just making Italy more aroused.

"Hn, Ludwig, can't hold back, gonna-" Feliciano moaned.

Germany gathered him close, moving up to kiss him hard, with their mouths open and mashed together. Feliciano's whimper was muffled into it, as Ludwig milked his orgasm out of him.

Feliciano floated for a while like that, held tight and with his body feeling heavy and utterly sated. Then he realized Germany was still breathing hard, and his hips were making tiny movements, as if he couldn't help it.

Feliciano opened his eyes, which had closed on their own, and smiled at Ludwig.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot about you...what can I do to make up for it?" he whispered.

Ludwig gave him a slightly desperate look.

"I...nothing too complicated, just-"

Still couldn't say the words, apparently. How cute.

"Ok, just lie back then~" Italy crooned.

Germany did so, seeming a little embarrassed still, though he must have been painfully aroused already.

Italy took in the body spread before him, not even aware he was licking his lips.

His fingers danced up from one muscled calf, doing a short exploration of all that wonderful naked flesh. Oh, but his Michelangelo would have been so very jealous, Italy thought with a small smile.

But he'd have time for a more thorough mapping later, right now Ludwig's expression said he was going mad with waiting.

So Italy just swallowed his length, the low groan above him music to his ears. He pulled back, and swallowed again, fingers stroking one quivering leg calmingly.

No need to hold back, he wanted to say, but couldn't with his mouth so full. Italy sucked instead, as hard as he could, and the cock in his mouth twitched and flooded his mouth with the bitter taste of come.

He swallowed it anyway, feeling warm all over as he listened to the noises Ludwig made.

Italy curled up next to Germany, feeling like he might sleep at last, never mind that the sun was already out. Germany probably wouldn't agree on that though...his thoughts were interrupted by a faint snore.

Italy smothered a laugh, and very carefully pulled the light covers over Ludwig.

Germany would be annoyed later, when he realized he'd slept most of the day. But then again...maybe not. Besides, Italy had a feeling this time he wouldn't have any bad dreams.


End file.
